


A Viennese Afternoon--A Napollya Drabble

by kestra_troi



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Banter, Drabble, Established Relationship, Feels, Gen Work, Hastily written, How Do I Tag, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Near Future, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Relationship Discussions, Rings, Secret Relationship, Short One Shot, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Napoleon ducks into a souvenir shop. Illya follows. Feels happen. Based on a Tumblr prompt.





	A Viennese Afternoon--A Napollya Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prompt that inspired this drabble: https://justfloatinginmyhead.tumblr.com/post/170068444941/imagine-your-otp-on-a-holiday-person-a-so-what
> 
> I followed it mostly, but I think my drabble is a bit more angst-y than the prompt intended. 
> 
> And just for the record I know nothing about Vienna, so...enjoy!

Napoleon slipped smoothly into the store rather suddenly leaving his partner on the sidewalk alone. Pausing mid-step, Illya saw the door close and quickly checked their surroundings out of the corners of his eyes. He neither sensed nor saw anything wrong. Frowning, he examined the building itself for anything of note.

The one-story structure had the same general design and composition of its neighbors. No architectural feature stood out especially. The one window facing the street displayed some of shop’s wares meant to lure unsophisticated Americans inside. The place clearly served as a tourist trap, so why would Napoleon go in?

They visited Vienna too regularly to be considered tourists.

They shared Vienna together. It belonged to them. Once a year, every year, for the past three years. Four, if you counted the initial mission that brought them here and brought them together. Vienna created them. A home away from home for them both. Neither east nor west.

Walking inside, Illya held the door open behind him for a little, old Viennese woman to pass. She mumbled her thanks raspingly as she shuffled on her way and he responded in his improving German. The inside did little to impress.

Everywhere tacky, tasteless knickknacks cluttered the shelves, small meaningless keepsakes for those afraid they would forget Vienna without a tangible bauble that held no significance or memory. Further in the wares did improve slightly: assorted classic books in German, glassware, pieces of artisan crystal, a couple sets of china. Napoleon though stood off to the side beside the counter running along the wall.

Illya joined him. “You want souvenir, Cowboy?”

“Yes, that.” Napoleon barely glanced in Illya’s direction. He pointed helpfully.

Illya peered into the counter display. “A gold ring?”

“Yes, and a wedding,” Napoleon replied airily. “I was thinking a winter ceremony. I hear the scenery around Vienna is stunning in the snow. Positively idyllic. The perfect place to have a nice, quiet ceremony.”

Illya stared at his boyfriend, intensely. Napoleon looked back at him placidly, his expression carefully guarded, yet open. The perfect face for a liar and a flirt. A difficult face to live with as a lover. “You joke too much, Cowboy,” he finally concluded, hedging his bets.

“Not kidding, Peril.” Napoleon stepped closer to his taller boyfriend, too close. He lowered his voice, “We should get married.”

Illya did a quick scan of the room over his boyfriend’s head. The only person he noticed, the proprietor, was facing away from them up in the corner by the display case too busy cleaning and reorganizing to mind them.

“We can not,” he hissed, keeping one eye on the owner. He took a half-step backwards attempting to weaken the intimacy between them, but Napoleon followed suit, not giving up an inch.

“We can,” Napoleon insisted.

“Is…” Illya shook his head and roughly whispered, “Illegal.”

“I’m not asking for marriage, Kuryakin,” Napoleon explained. Illya breathed, his tension draining. Napoleon grinned devilishly, adding, “Just a wedding.”

“It is—it is not done.” Illya pleaded with his eyes for Napoleon to drop whatever scheme he dreamed up. Some futures could not be conceived.

“Not normally no,” Napoleon agreed, brightly. Illya squinted at him. When Napoleon shone trouble followed.

“Maybe…” Illya swallowed tightly. In his life as KGB love and romance never mattered. His career took precedence, always. He dabbled with women on occasion, seduced when the job required it, but never anything serious. Napoleon was serious. Illya cleared his throat. “Maybe, I buy you snow globe.”

Napoleon sighed. “Now, who’s making jokes?”

The hurt darkened Napoleon’s blue eyes and Illya’s heart stuttered. No man had been beautiful before Solo. No man had tempted him before Solo. No man had irritated and frustrated and teased him before Solo. Not in that way that made his cheeks flush and his knees weak.

For three years they had not put a name to what they did in hotel rooms and safe houses when they were alone. Vacationing together in Vienna stood in for dates at Parisian cafes and romantic strolls along the Riviera. They did not hold hands on the sidewalk. They did not kiss except in shadows and stolen moments. Yet they always were together. Always touching. Always saving each other. Seven years as partners. Three as more.

Napoleon turned to go and Illya took his arm. “I have not enough money,” he said evenly. “I come back later. Buy ring.”

“You sure, Peril? This isn’t an ultimatum,” Napoleon clarified. “You asked what I wanted and I told you. I don’t expect you to—”

Illya pulled his chattering boyfriend into a kiss. A kiss more public than any other. “You talk too much, Cowboy,” he murmured softly, his lips lingering. “I get money, I come back, I buy ring and snow globe. We start collection.”

“Of rings or snow globes?”

“Both,” Illya suggested with a shrug.

“Snow globes aren’t really my style,” Napoleon complained. “And as far as rings go all we need is two.”

“Fine,” Illya agreed. “I come back, buy ring for you. You come back and by ring for me. And snow globe goes on your mantle next to painting you stole.”

“It was a gift,” Napoleon assured, pointlessly. He beamed with the pride that comes from appreciating goods you took with your own two hands. Illya turned his eyes to the heavens. Napoleon smiled and twined their fingers. In public no less. Illya grinned his closed-mouthed, sweetheart grin reserved for only his love. “And why can’t the snow globe go on your mantle?”

“Too garish. Too gauche,” Illya explained. “Perfect for uncouth American like you, Cowboy.”

Napoleon smirked, leading Illya by the hand back to the display counter. “Which one for you, then? Silver? Gold? That cute, little diamond ring there would look wonderful on your oh so delicate finger.”

“Your taste never ceases to disappoint, Cowboy.”

“Neither does your wit, Peril.”

In the end, Illya selected a simple, unadorned silver ring to compliment Napoleon’s and they walked out empty-handed holding hands.

Vienna belonged to them and they to Vienna.

And by the next day they belonged together and they set a date.

Silver and gold. American and Russian. East and West. Spy and spy. Husband and husband. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched the movie and got hit with feels and then I saw this prompt and I just hurriedly typed something up. If anyone is interested I wouldn't mind a beta reader or even a co-author to help improve what's here. Comment down below and we can chat.
> 
> Normally, something rushed and unpolished like this would just sit on my desktop forever unpublished, but this fandom is so small and (unfortunately kinda dead?) so I decided to publish it anyway. Kind of a force-myself-to-do-this-despite-my-perfectionism-just-to-have-something-published-in-this-fandom-or-I-never-will sort of thing. 
> 
> I LOVE these two! And it will never happen, I know, but I NEED IT!!!!!!
> 
> My heart aches with Napollya feels. AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Come cry with me. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!


End file.
